


Percolate

by melonbug



Series: -ate [1]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Mentions of Sex, Pre-Invasion, bastardized martian headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbug/pseuds/melonbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What hurts is that Megan hadn’t told her. That she had to find out from Zatanna, who could see, in a glance, what Artemis couldn’t (wouldn’t) see in daysweeksmonths (how long has this been going on?)</p><p>  <i>"Can I kiss you?" Megan asks softly, and Artemis almost can't tear her eyes away from her lips long enough to answer her.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Percolate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itswallie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itswallie/gifts).



> Written for [itswallie!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/itswallie) for this Christmas past, and of course, I never finished it until now. Merry very very belated Christmas, Mags! <3
> 
> Maybe there will be more later, who knows? I can't say I'm all that into the fandom anymore, so this may be the final Young Justice fic from me.
> 
> (takes place pre-invasion, directly after Secrets)

Artemis takes up residence on the sofa, curling into the corner. The television in front of her is a flickering glow in the otherwise dark room, and she trains her eyes on it, watching the shake of the static. Conner must have been the one to leave it on.

She imagines him sitting in this exact spot some hours prior to her arrival, Megan sitting next to him, curled up at his side or possibly in his lap. She imagines the white noise on the television casting a sickly glow upon their faces as they ignore it, as they talktouchfeelgrope–

Her chest tightens and Artemis drags in a cold breath through her nose, shoving the image away. 

She knows now, knows about them, knows that Megan didn’t tell her. The knowledge is there, raw and painful and bitter and there in the back of her mind. The impact of it has lessened now, especially in the wake of her adventure with Zatanna. But it’s still there.

And it doesn’t bother her that they’re together. Nope, not at all. Not a single little bit. She’s fine with that.

What hurts is that Megan hadn’t told her. That she had to find out from Zatanna, who could see, in a glance, what Artemis couldn’t (wouldn’t) see in daysweeksmonths (how long has this been going on?).

There’s movement in the kitchen behind her, a rustling of cloth and the soft sound of a cabinet closing. It’s the soft pad of feet across the floor, though, that is her only warning anyone is actually approaching. The steps are light, floaty almost, and from the sound alone she already knows who it is. Only Megan walks like that, and Robin, on occasion. Most occasions, really, but he’s in Gotham right now.

Artemis lifts her head, eyes meeting green legs– long smooth, bare green legs. Heat rises to her cheeks and, in the cold of the room, it burns.

Megan shuffles where she stands and Artemis finally drags her head up to meet her eyes.

“May I join you?”

Artemis nods stiffly and the sofa dips nearby as Megan drops her weight onto it. She doesn’t speak again, and the two sit there, the awkward moment filled only with the fuzzy noise of the television static and Megan’s light breathing. Artemis stares straight ahead, into the static, and maybe she can suddenly see the appeal of it.

Beside her, Megan doesn’t seem as interested. She shifts closer, slowly, as if by moving slower maybe Artemis might not notice.

She does, but she doesn’t look away from the television. And maybe that isn’t the most polite thing to do in light of the situation, but she doesn’t know what to say. All she can think right now is why Conner, why not meusanyonebutConner, why not tell me? And she doesn’t trust herself to speak for fear that she may say something that will only make the awkwardness more awkward. Or perhaps something she will regret.

There’s a hand on her shoulder, and Artemis jumps, though she should have seen it coming. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Megan, who knits her brow and frowns at her with such genuine concern that Artemis feels guilty for being upset over something so silly. She lifts her head off her knees and smiles back reassuringly.

“Is everything alright, Artemis?” Megan asks, drawing her hand away.

Artemis’ mouth is suddenly dry and she swallows, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, everything is fine, Megan.”

She shakes her head, mouth drawn into a firm line of worry now. “It isn’t, I can tell. Something is bothering you.”

“Really, everything is fine.” 

“Is this about what happened in Manhattan? Do you want to talk about it—”

“No.”

Megan slumps her shoulders, settling back into the sofa, and the two fall silent again. Artemis chances a glance over at her, and her gaze is drawn to Megan’s hand, to delicate green fingers that are now fisted into the black fabric of her shirt. Her fingers twitch lightly, a barely noticeable tremor making its way through her hand. It takes Artemis a second, her attention too taken with the Martian girls’ hands, to notice that she’s wearing a real shirt. The cloth hangs loose on her form, pulls away from her, twists into her fisted hand.

It takes her another, long second to recognize it as one of Conner’s shirts, one of the few he owns that doesn’t have the Superman symbol on it. Artemis swallows thickly, a knot forming in her stomach. She imagines that, if she were to lean a little closer, perhaps lay her head against the girl’s shoulder, she could still smell Conner on it.

Megan murmurs a soft ‘oh’ beside her, and Artemis jerks her head up, embarrassed. Their eyes meet, and Artemis forces herself to look away, shifting uncomfortably.

“This is about Conner.”

“I– I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A good liar is one thing Artemis is not, and Megan sees through it immediately. The Martian leans forward, invading her personal space, and Artemis flinches only slightly as a cold green hand rests itself against her cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” Megan asks softly, and Artemis can’t tear her eyes away from her lips as the words leave them. The shape they take at the word ‘kiss’ is enough that she doesn’t think on the question, doesn’t think of Conner or of consequences.

Artemis nods, head heavy and stomach woozy and her heart pounding, the thrum of it echoing through her ears. Megan slides closer, her gaze tentative and her movements full of only the briefest of hesitation. The hand on her cheek moves to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, just as Megan pauses, her faces only inches away. The girl’s lips twitch into a flicker of a smile and then they meet hers.

Her lips are cold, like ice, and Artemis almost draws back in shock. An equally cold hand curls into her shoulder, right at the nape of her neck, and she relaxes, letting her eyes flutter closed. It occurs to her, suddenly, that she has never noticed before just how cold Megan is, and she leans closer and further into the kiss at the thought.

This isn’t her first kiss, by any means, but it’s different and better than all the ones before. She’s never kissed another girl, never even thought too much on or what it would be like until she met Megan. And it’s beautiful, and Megan’s lips are soft and meld nicely against her own. She exhales a soft sigh through her nose just as Megan finally pulls away.

It occurs to her then, all at once, that she’s just kissed Megan. And she’s not entirely sure why.

“What–” Artemis struggles with words, her need to say something overriding her ability to actually form a coherent thought. “What was that–?”

Megan dips her head, eyes on the floor, like a chastised puppy. “Was that too– Was that too forward of me? I’m sorry I shouldn’t have–”

“No! No, its fine, just–” Artemis grapples with a delicate way to phrase what she wants to say next. “What about- What about Conner?” She says his name in a whisper, suddenly frightened he may hear, may have already heard- ohgod he has super hearing, how could she have forgotten that? “I–I thought–”

Megan lifts her head and the answer is there in her eyes, in the way she bites at her bottom lip. Artemis has to keep herself from looking away, to see if Conner is maybe standing there, watching, because how can he not have heard this?

Artemis doesn’t understand, and Megan doesn’t seem to have any immediate answers. The awkward moment is back, and the static is now an unwelcome noise, filling her ears and turning her stomach. Artemis averts her eyes from the screen, from Megan, and directs them to the ceiling instead, as if she will find some sort of explanation waiting for her there.

She doesn’t.

~

“On Mars,” Megan begins softly, choosing her words carefully. She knows what she wants to say, what she probably needs to say given what has just happened, and the words are there, but foreign and beyond her grasp. She struggles to articulate, mouth opening and closing with the need to say something to fill the awkward silence. “On Mars, things are different.” The word falls flat, and she bites at her lip as if the pain it brings will somehow sharpen the thoughts in her mind and help her to verbalize them.

It doesn’t, of course.

Next to her, or rather, in front of her, given her awkward position on the sofa (legs tucked under her, the small of her back resting against the armrest,) sits Artemis. Megan watches her carefully, takes note of the tension in her shoulders, and wants nothing more than to reach over and smooth it away. Her hand gives a brief twitch with the desire to do so, but she reigns herself in, given the general hostility of Artemis’ posture.

It wouldn’t do to make things worse.

So she takes a deep breath and begins anew.

“On Mars, we love in numbers,” she tells her, at last, because it is the only way she knows how to describe it: in numbers, in sets, in multiples of one. “Sometimes in pairs, but also in threes and in fours. In fives and sixes,” she continues as steadily as she can manage.

Artemis doesn’t move or react to her words, but keeps her head dipped low, her lips pursed. She thinks, loud and blaringly. Megan can feel the chaos and confusion of her thoughts, can hear them as clearly as if the cacophony of words were being screamed at her.

Megan swallows and perches herself on the very edge of the sofa, ready to flee should those thoughts turn sour.

“We love in groups,” she finally adds softly, when the thoughts and the silence and noise begin to overwhelm her. Then she folds her hands together nervously and waits.

A word suddenly comes to Artemis’ mind, loud and projected and standing out among the slew of thoughts. It’s not one Megan recognizes, but it’s laced with humor and she repeats it aloud and slowly, lips forming awkwardly over the foreign word.

“Orgies?”

The peal of laughter that escapes Artemis does wonders for relieving the tension that’s built up and though Megan doesn’t quite know why it’s so funny, she laughs as well, relaxing back into the cushions.

“You have no idea what that means, do you?” Artemis asks, when they’ve fallen silent once more. It’s the first thing she’s said in ages, and hearing her speak has Megan feeling less on edge.

She smiles. “No.”

Artemis laughs again, but keeps it brief this time. “Group sex,” she explains, her posture now soft and relaxed.

Sex. Even that word is not wholly familiar to her, though she knows it’s meanings and implications. Her face, at once, does that human thing it does when embarrassed and floods with warmth, and she gapes rather like a fish.

“I didn’t mean-” she tries and then stops, feeling faint, “I wasn’t trying to suggest–”

Artemis is the one to cut her off this time.

“Relax, Megan, I didn’t think you were.” She frowns. "I'm still not entirely sure what you mean, though."

Megan deflates a little and Artemis continues quickly. "I mean, I understand what you're saying but– I'm not sure I understand exactly what you want from me." She hesitates briefly. "Ok no, actually– I think I– I'm not sure if what I think you're saying you want is actually what you're saying you want. So I–"

Megan frowns, utterly overwhelmed and completely lost. "I'm ummm– I'm pretty sure that what I want is what you think I want. I– what is it you think I want?"

"A relationship of some kind?"

She nods, chewing at her bottom lip. "Well, yes. that's pretty much– yeah."

"What about Conner?"

"What about him? I thought I explained that-"

"No, Megan. I get the whole poly relationship Mars thing," Artemis says, "but does he know? I mean, is he ok with–" she gestures between the two of them, "With this. If I even agree to a– a this?"

“Yes,” she begins softly, “We have spoken at length on the ‘poly relationship thing’ as you put it. His knowledge of Earth culture is minimal, as mine is, but he was- Not opposed to it, no.”

Artemis cocks her head, studying Megan, and Megan feels self conscious again, at the complete and utter attention of her friend. “Not opposed to it?” the blond echoes softly, as if she is still uncertain, as if asking for clarification.

“He thinks you’re pretty,” Megan says smoothly, grinning, and Artemis blushes faintly, a pretty color of pink flushing across her cheeks. “And he likes you, as well. He doesn’t mind–” She gestures between the two of them, as Artemis had. “A this.”

Artemis nods, and Megan can hear and see and feel the deep breath she takes, in harshly through the nose, and out slowly through the mouth. “Ok, then,” she murmurs. “I– Okay.” And she looks at Megan and she smiles.


End file.
